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I’m Heading South
As the days draw in
I will head south,
past the lake’s glacial blue,
up the curving road
where the mountain shines,
beyond the musterer’s hut
on whose walls names...
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Junk Girls & Grass & the Next Meal
This poem is no jerked iron drug - no money runs, no fur, and higher, no lunch -
the truck stirs, you imagine touch -
Jake...
